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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998136">Man-Made</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noah_swan/pseuds/noah_swan'>noah_swan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noah_swan/pseuds/noah_swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest addition to the MCRT has Gibbs' agents questioning the familial dynamic of their team, and the fraught perspectives they share. </p><p>What makes a man, a man? </p><p>(team fic, +1. no bashing; everyone comes around)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set mid-season 2, and therefore in 2004. I'm hoping to... update... the beloved MCRT with some much-needed, 21st century perspective. </p><p>New character, fresh take. Please be kind; he's got a purpose.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Nothing beats a Gibbs-less bullpen</em>, Tony mused. 0845 on a Monday without the boss, and a trio of unsupervised MCRT agents were basking in the glow of a slow work morning. No heavy paperwork, no cases— just Kate sketching, McGee running software updates, and Tony throwing wads of paper into an ill-placed trash can. </p><p>Coming off a gruesome double-homicide the week prior, which only barely wrapped itself up with a forced confession on Friday afternoon, the Senior Field agent welcomed the downtime; a weekend of paperwork and cold pizza left something to be desired. </p><p>  Of course, as soon as DiNozzo became conscious of the calm, it was immediately disrupted. </p><p>"McGee. Run a profile on the screen— former Petty Officer Joshua Parker." The lead agent rounded the bullpen from the elevators, carrying his customary carafe of black coffee. His face bore no indication of the severity of the instruction. </p><p>"Dead, missing, or suspicious, boss?" DiNozzo tossed a final wad, which was snatched up by Gibbs as he passed. </p><p>From her desk, Kate perked up. "We catch a case?" </p><p>"Just pull the profile, McGee." </p><p>McGee hammered quietly on his keyboard, while DiNozzo and Kate looked on with piqued interest. <em> A mysterious Gibbs is a dangerous Gibbs </em>. </p><p>With a smirk, Gibbs rose from his desk. "Do some research. Have something to show me when I get back." He took a long sip of the coffee, briefly surveying the agents before him. His gaze was appraising of something; DiNozzo felt slightly uneasy, unable to place his boss's deliberacy. </p><p>Tony stood, too. "Back from where, Boss? You just got here." </p><p>"Wouldn't you like to know, DiNozzo." The former marine walked up the stairs, towards the Director's office. As he mounted the catwalk above, the elevator opened onto the floor. Out from within, stepped a short, well-dressed young man. Upon closer inspection, Tony's confusion grew exponentially. </p><p>McGee's head swiveled. "Is that—" </p><p>The young man's face was mirrored on McGee's screen. </p><p>"Parker, you're with me." </p><p>— — — </p><p> </p><p>DC public transportation is trash, as Josh Parker was quickly discovering. Though the bus stopped a mere block from his apartment rental, the half-mile walk from the bus stop to the NCIS building, left something to be desired. April at the Washington Naval Yard was windier than anticipated; Josh compulsively smoothed a hand down the front of his button-down, as he mounted the steps of the office. </p><p><em> 0900 </em>, he'd been told, no sooner or later. Based on his brief phone call with Special Agent Gibbs, Josh wasn't exactly sure what to expect at the NCIS office. It seemed to be an interview— at least, that's what he was hoping for. His resume had been passed through every NCIS location along the eastern seaboard, before stopping in DC. If it stuck here, so be it. </p><p>The security guard eyed Josh with disinterest as he entered the facility. "You here for a field trip, son?" </p><p>Josh rolled his eyes. <em> What else is new? </em>  "No, sir." He flashed a smile. "I have a meeting upstairs, with Special Agent Gibbs?" </p><p>The guard stood. "You got a Naval ID?" </p><p><em> Fuck </em>. Josh's breath hitched. He grappled, momentarily, for cool composure.  "Lost it a few months back, sir. Been meaning to replace it. I believe Agent Gibbs has me on a list?" From within a beaten wallet, Josh procured his Maine State ID, instead. </p><p>"See that you do replace it, son. It makes for easier access around here." The guard took the ID, inspecting it against a list behind his desk. "Maine, huh? Long way from here." </p><p>Josh repocketed his ID, shrugging. "Joined the Navy to see the world. Or something." </p><p>The guard snorted. "This ain't the world, son. Just NCIS. Good luck with Gibbs, he's a tough one." </p><p>— — — </p><p> </p><p>"There is absolutely no way that dude is 25." </p><p>"Timeline checks out, Tony. Graduated from Oceanside High School in Rockland, Maine back in '97, no college. Enlisted straight into the Marines." </p><p>Tony snorted. "Maine? What is this, a Stephen King novel?" </p><p>Kate rolled her eyes. "Tony thinks he has exclusive claim to New England, based on boarding school alone." </p><p>"Katie here's just distracted because she thinks he's cute." </p><p>"Get real, DiNozzo. Short guys aren't my type."</p><p>"My apologies. I forgot you were only into tall, good looking, college-football-playing, well-dressed, handsome, italian—" </p><p>McGee cleared his throat. "Guys, there's more. Parker did almost four years in the Navy, stationed for a majority of that time on the USS Albany, which is based out of Norfolk. Says here Parker was discharged in 2001." </p><p>Approaching the screen, Tony squinted. "Honorable or dishonorable?" </p><p>"Just discharged." McGee shrugged. "From there, there's a gap in his profile resume— 2001 to 2002 is empty. Parker pops back up again in 2003 at a NCIS FLETA program outside Baltimore, then worked as a junior analyst on the public response team in the Northeast field office until last month." </p><p>Kate made a low noise of interest. "Maine to the Navy, then back to Rhode Island." </p><p>"Close, but no roots." Tony leaned back against his desk. "So the kid enlists young, but is discharged, for whatever reason. Goes dark for a bit, comes back, and takes a spot at NCIS-Newport. Looking after, what, the 15 geriatric marines stationed there?" </p><p>With the clicker, Kate scrolled back up, through the biographical information on the screen. "Northeast office to the Navy Yard isn't out of the question. It would be a promotion, for sure." </p><p>Tony chuckled. "Yeah, but less than two years as a junior agent at a junior base? Kid's greener than grass. No way he has the qualifications for a transfer." </p><p>"You've got to admit, Tony, Parker's clearly been around. 25 is young for an agent, regardless." </p><p>Shooting a look at McGee, Tony reached over to turn the monitor off. "25 is 25. You just spent your youth studying chess and playing numbers, McGeek." </p><p>From his computer, McGee frowned— not in response to Tony, but something on his screen. "Guys, something's hinky." </p><p>"Borrowing vocab from Abby, McGee?" Kate laughed. </p><p>The tech-savvy agent turned the monitor of his computer around. "I'm searching through the Naval database for more information on Parker's stay on the Albany. But I think I hit something else, entirely." </p><p>— — — </p><p> </p><p>"Parker, have a seat." </p><p>In the conference room, adjacent to the Director's office, Josh found himself opposite one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. His palms were sweating; Gibbs' reputation preceded him. He had been something akin to myth back in Newport. </p><p>"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today, sir."</p><p>"You can cut the 'sir,' son. We're just talkin'." Gibbs surveyed the former Petty Officer with his trademark poker face; sharp blue eyes scanned the younger man with well-concealed interest. </p><p>Under the scrutiny, Josh winced, but squared his shoulders. "Of course. Sir." </p><p>Gibbs rolled his eyes. From within the pocket of his tweed blazer, the agent procured a tri-folded document. "Got your resume here. Passed straight from Kieschnick, out on the Albany. You came highly recommended." </p><p>Josh examined his hands in his lap, blushing. "Commander Kieschnick was my superior in training, sir, during my first deployment. I was grateful to be under his command— he's a good man." </p><p>"The best," Gibbs agreed. "Though I never could figure out why he jumped over, the traitor. Fifteen years in the Marines, but the man found a home with the Navy." </p><p>Both men chuckled; some of the tension ebbed, slightly. From across the table, Josh couldn't help but feel ultra-conscious of the military markers between them. Although their image was far from mirrored, he saw the ache of perfect posture across the older man's shoulders. Despite the fact that Josh was well overdue for a trim, both men sported similarly-shorn crew cuts; one grey, the other a sandy-blonde. Josh attempted to mirror the agent's guarded expression, though he feared he was failing miserably. </p><p>"Forgive me, Agent Gibbs, but I'm curious as to why you called me here, today. Commander Kieschnick was not particularly forthcoming with details; only logistics."</p><p>Gibbs offered him a partial smile. "Why do you think you're here today?" </p><p><em> A test. </em> Josh swallowed uncomfortably. </p><p>"Well, I'm incredibly interested in the work you do here at the Washington Navy Yard, sir. I'm also curious to see the other side of the curtain, having been stationed nearby before. While I'm grateful for the opportunity to have found my bearings in Newport, there's admittedly not much opportunity for growth up north. It's an honor to be able to see your facilities." </p><p>A weathered hand ran through the grey cut. "What's that got to do with <em> why </em> you're here?" </p><p>Josh bit his lip, consciously straightening his shoulders again. "Sir, I assumed that Commander Kieschnick's generosity had extended to our meeting here, on the basis of my potentially filling an open position within the Agency here. My confusion stems from why I'm in <em> your </em>company specifically. Sir." </p><p>"Thought I said to cut the sir." Gibbs raised an eyebrow.<br/>
"Due respect, Agent Gibbs." </p><p>A shrug. "Gonna get old real fast, son. What's the problem with my company, then?" </p><p>"No problem at all. I apologize." Josh backpedaled, hard. "It's just, you're the lead agent of the Major Crimes Response Team, sir. I can't determine why you might assist in the placement of a junior agent into another division." </p><p>Gibbs eyed him, this time with pause. "Two years' experience as a low-risk territory field agent with a specialization in analysis. Full marks through your FLETC course. Multiple commendations aboard the Albany, and a glowing profile of recommendations. Says here, you're top five percent in agility, marksmanship, tactile. Dozens of well-completed assignments." </p><p>"I am deeply grateful for the time I spent serving, sir. And I'm committed to NCIS." </p><p>Gibbs rose from his seat. "You committed to moving back?" </p><p>"Stuff's already in a rental, sir." </p><p>The older man extended his hand. "Good. That's convenient, then." </p><p>"Sir?" </p><p>"Gonna need to drop the sir long-term, Parker. 'Gibbs' is just fine." </p><p>A very confused, very conflicted Josh Parker shook his hand. </p><p>
  <em> What just happened?  </em>
</p><p>— — — </p><p>Gibbs escorted Josh down the flight of stairs, glancing sharply at his team; the trio were stationed at their desks, wide-eyed, watching them descend from the MTAC area. </p><p>"Something you wanna say, DiNozzo?" His voice was low, but loud enough for the Senior Field Agent's ears to subsequently blush red. </p><p>"No, boss. Just intrigued, is all." </p><p>At the base of the stairs, Gibbs turned to Josh, placing himself between the young agent and the rest of his team. "It's long hours, and lots of overnights, Parker." </p><p>"Due respect, sir, no one's waiting up for me. I'm just not entirely sure, to what you're referencing?" </p><p>Gibbs clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Human Resources is down on the second floor. They'll set you up with a badge, and the paperwork for a Sig." </p><p>Eyes blown comically wide, Josh wasn't sure how to respond. </p><p>"McGee!" </p><p>"Yes, boss?" The probationary agent rose from his desk, across the bullpen.</p><p>Gibbs gestured down the hallway. "Go find a fifth computer. We're gonna need to rearrange the layout." </p><p>Everyone gaped. </p><p>"Boss," DiNozzo started, "there's something we need to show you." </p><p>The lead agent turned to Josh, offering him an unreadable expression. "Go downstairs, and report back when you've finished." Dazed, and still confused, Josh could only nod. Rather than wait for the elevator, he made haste to the staircase, and disappeared from the bullpen. </p><p>"What is it, DiNozzo?" </p><p>McGee gestured to his computer screen; Gibbs squinted at it, straining without his reading glasses. </p><p>"Boss, I checked the Naval registry," McGee started, nervously. "There's absolutely no record of any Petty Officer named Joshua Parker." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Boss, I checked the Naval registry," McGee  started, nervously. "There's absolutely no record of any Petty Officer named Joshua Parker." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>— — — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process of being processed, at NCIS HR, was a fairly straight-forward affair. Josh presented the two forms of ID necessary— his old license, to corroborate his Navy profile, and his new license, to prove his identity. The hair on the back of his neck rose up involuntarily as the HR agent examined the two plastic cards side-by-side. She "hmm'd" at them for long enough to trigger Josh's fight-or-flight. Then, of course, she handed them back without issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the same at NCIS Newport. And everywhere else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, Josh bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. The elevator was running painfully slow. Though he could easily have taken the stairs, Josh opted to wait— and felt slightly cowardly doing so. He was desperately prolonging a reappearance in the upstairs bullpen.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They're just people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except they weren't </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> people. They were the NCIS Major Case Response Team. The A-Team for naval-related crime; their reputation preceded them, up and down the coast. Whereas NCIS was relatively unknown, the Washington MCRT was the closest thing you could equate to positive press for the agency. They were things of urban legend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, based on his bewildering interactions with both Agent Gibbs </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wanda from HR, it would seem that Josh walked amongst them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, maybe? The uncertainty was killing him. He hadn't come to NCIS today to grovel for a job— merely to hold an informational meeting with the revered former Gunnery Sergeant. And the meeting itself had been anything but informational. It was brief, and stilted, and left Josh feeling like maybe Gibbs was the one holding the informational with him. The man had that trademark Marine mask-of-secrecy thing going on, and it left Josh nothing short of utterly confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bounced again, and again. The elevator remained motionless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What'cha doing?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh, an investigator and law-enforcement-agent-in-training, definitely did not jump. Not at all. The woman who now stood before him, sipping what appeared to be a concerningly large drink from 7-11, did not startle him. Neither did her goth appearance. None of it. He was perfectly calm, and not at all shaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh boy, this is going to be fun." She sipped from her drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fun?" Josh's voice definitely didn't crack, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman stuck out her hand. "Abby. Abigail. The Ab-ster." She offered him a suspiciously knowing smile. "You're Gibbs's new baby, right? You have to be. You're the only person I've seen in the building all day, who I've never seen before." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh's mind stalled like a rusty stick shift. The only thing he could think to do, was check his watch. "But it's only 10." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This gave Abby-Abigail-Ab-ster pause. "Huh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm the only person you've never seen in the building, all day today. But it's only 10." He gave her a curt smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returned with a shit-eating grin. "Oof. I'm having mixed feelings… Mister…" Abby snatched the newly-minted ID card from the lanyard now hanging at his hip. "...Parker! Ooh. Like Peter Parker. Spiderman… Spiders!" She gestured at the spiderweb tattoo on her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh couldn't help but grin, in turn. "Something like that. You overly caffeinated, or is this normal?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator dinged. "You're the investigator," Abby giggled, "you tell me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— — — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gibbs?" The three subordinates of MTAC were staring at the lead agent with varying levels of extreme confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In return, Gibbs looked at them sharply, over the bridge of his reading glasses. "There's a record of him. You got his file on the screen alright, didn't you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's the thing, boss." McGee looked guiltily stricken. "It's like he appeared out of thin air two years ago. The profile I pulled off Parker was a composite— someone had manually pieced together the information, internally. As in—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As in he's worked multiple assignments under NCIS jurisdiction, McGee. Yours is a composite profile, too." To the younger agents, Gibbs looked troublingly untroubled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony couldn't help but chuckle. "Bet Kate wishes she knew she could've changed her profile all along, huh? Maybe tweak the height and weight?" She nailed him in the shin. "Ow." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bet DiNozzo's just glad they don't include </span>
  <em>
    <span>size</span>
  </em>
  <span> in these profiles." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The computers can't count that high." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you two </span>
  <em>
    <span>quit it</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Gibbs snarled, pushing away from the monitor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>DiNozzo sobered slightly. "It's not that we don't trust your impeccable, shiny, classic Marine-sniper instincts, boss. It's just—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>, DiNozzo?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What Tony is trying to ask," Kate cut in, "is whether or not we should be concerned about this kid. If he's joining the team, we need to be able to trust him, Gibbs. And personally, I don't trust anyone with a shady personnel file." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— — — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the elevator, Josh bounced on his feet once more; the whole machine shifted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Everything is gonna be fine," Abby placated. She reached over, easily smoothing the collar of his previously-ironed shirt; in her clunky, black boots, Abby easily towered over the smaller man. "Everyone will love you and you'll fit right in and things will be excellent. I like you after five whole minutes, and my opinion counts most, anyways." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Josh couldn't help but smile. She was nothing if not convincing, and pleasant; though it did nothing for the anxious churning in his gut, the new agent was grateful for her verbal support. Too many unanswered questions burned at the back of Josh's mind. His defences, softened only slightly by the new, goth acquaintance, were on high-alert. Quite simply, nothing at this NCIS office was making a lick of sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the doors </span>
  <em>
    <span>dinged</span>
  </em>
  <span> open once more, Abby winked at Josh. She then proceeded to push him out into the bullpen… But remained inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aren't you coming?" Josh quirked an eyebrow at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah. I just came along for the ride." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, as she disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. From behind, he could feel the gaze of the MCRT turn on him; a phantom-burn that raised his hackles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Parker, you coming? Or what?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— — — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the kid reentered the bullpen, Tony turned an investigative eye on the new recruit. There was, as Abby would say, something hinky about the whole situation. The kid didn't raise alarms like a suspect, per se— but only because he seemed to have garnered some serious goodwill from Gibbs. Tony couldn't help but feel like he was missing something major. The fact that Gibbs seemed to be clued in, but wasn't willing to divulge, only made him feel worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sir," Parker nodded at Gibbs, before casting his eyes downwards. "Human Resources has turned me back to you." His hands were shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his chinos; less classy than the suit DiNozzo had donned that morning, but at least it looked like the kid had attempted to iron them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?" The look Gibbs was giving Parker, was nothing new to Tony. It was his tried-and-tested, piercing stare. Handy in interrogation, sure, but slightly out of place in the bullpen. The former Marine held his gaze for a few uncomfortable seconds, before quirking his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parker glanced upwards again. "Well, my paperwork has gone through, sir. Temporary assignment— I'm cleared to assist your team for as long as you deem appropriate." He held up a shiny badge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great. Grab your gear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, Tony reached down for his go-bag. Half-hunched, be paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Boss? We got a case?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The new probie was still standing, stationary, at the mouth of the bullpen. He didn't look frazzled, but his face betrayed the same base-level confusion that Tony felt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gibbs hasn't told him shit, either</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the SFA realized suddenly. He almost felt guilty for the relief that accompanied that realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gibbs shrugged off the jacket he was wearing, hanging it loose off his desk chair. "No case. We're gonna run some drills. Meet me in the gym in 10." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— — — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downstairs, on the first sub-level of the NCIS facility, Josh found himself holding a stack of agency-regulated sweats. "Everyone gets sweatpants, a t-shirt, a long-sleeve, a cap..." McGee was doing his very best to live up to his new role as senior-probie. It was clearly not his forte. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't forget the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> fashionable windbreaker, McHospitality." DiNozzo flashed Josh a grin. "We like to match at crime scenes. Makes the other acronyms jealous." Through tinted windows down the hall, Josh could see into the Agency's gym; it looked a hell of a lot nicer than the one back in Newport. For the middle of the morning, it was also blessedly empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kate had already disappeared down the hallway, into what Josh believed to be the women's locker room. He swallowed, compulsively; it didn't take a genius to figure out where this situation was headed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This'll be my shortest assignment yet, then</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McGee and DiNozzo seemed nice enough. They'd briefly taken him around, pointing out important landmarks as they made their way to the basement. Their banter was friendly, easy. If Gibbs was the brains of the MCRT, Tony was clearly the heart. Though, Josh was not entirely looking forward to facing the SFA's wrath— which, if things continued on the same, accelerated path as his time Newport, would be sooner rather than later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>New sweats in hand, Josh allowed himself to be led to the doorway of the men's locker room. He plastered on an easy smile, to avoid suspicions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please have stalls. Please, please have stalls</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, no stalls. Just a row of lockers and benches. Minimalistic, and entirely unhelpful for Josh Parker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually, I think I'm gonna hit the head before we start. Down the hall, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McGee, whose pants were already half-off, looked confused. "You can put your sweats down, if you want. There's no assigned lockers, just grab whatever's open." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh gripped the stack of new clothing tighter. "No, no, it's cool. I can change quickly while I'm there. Two-for-one deal, right." The laugh he offered sounded slightly sour; it was chased by a painful swallow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, you can change while you pee? That's impressive," DiNozzo snorted, now topless and fumbling for his regulation t-shirt. "I'm almost tempted to come watch and learn." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Josh cried, before he could stop himself. His eyes widened. "I mean, no, it's cool. It's not that impressive. Nothing to see here." He laughed again. This time, it sounded painfully— suspiciously— fake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Senior Field Agent's gaze hardened upon him. McGee, too, was looking at him with concerned confusion. Josh swallowed again. And again. His back was to the door, but mentally, he couldn't stop himself from calculating the time it would take to run all the way out, up the three flights of stairs to the main entrance, past security, down the front walkway, and back the half-mile to the bus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just in case</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everything was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>just in case</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You gonna tell us what the fuck is up with you? Or what?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent DiNozzo didn't look angry. But he clearly wasn't happy. The jovial tint to his gaze had vanished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered, setting the stack of clothes on the bench. He tried again. "Sorry. Just nerves. I'm not really sure what's going on here. First day, and all." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it hot in here? Or am I losing it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He swallowed again, pushing back against invisible bile; backed into a corner, Josh Parker felt more than a little bit feral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now fully changed, McGee smiled sympathetically. "No worries, man. I get it. Gibbs can be more than a little intimidating." He closed his locker. "We don't really want to keep him waiting, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony was still staring at him. "Yeah. What the Probie said."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be quick," Josh offered. "Sorry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two older agents began making their way to the door; Josh's relief was instantaneous. The prospect of changing in peace, almost offset the sour awkwardness of the past five minutes. With their backs to him, he quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen, Parker—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony turned around, with his hand on the door, and blanched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't that the kid was short. It wasn't that he was apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> slighter than the button down would suggest; toned, but oddly skinny in proportion. It wasn't even an astral-projection of the bad vibes Tony was getting in waves. It was something else, entirely— something that even Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo was unsure of how to take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josh turned quickly, grabbing his shirt off the bench, but it was too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Parker, are those tit scars? What the fuck?" </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>NCIS can have a little Trans character. As a treat. </p><p>(Just tryna posthumously update my favorite team, for a lil self-love.) </p><p>As always, kudos and comments... validate my gender identity? ;)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kudos and comments to me, are like coffee to gibbs, and formaldehyde to ducky.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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